The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 31, 1903, Page 5

seat, caught once more with swift mod- &t the robe which fell from her She raised ves and turned full upon the visitor. ever had pell of curve and color. never had the language of sex addressed this youth as it did now Intoxicating enough was vague, mysterious speech even at this inappropriate time. The girl knew th mesh had fallen well. She but caught again at her robe and cast down again her eyés and voiced again her as- sumed anxiety. I scarce know what to do.” she murmured. My brother did w her eyes not explain—" said that case,” =aid Mary € Co though with impatience, it well if 1 took the liberty of reading the message in Lady Catharine’s absence Y £a ar brother is in trouble? Of the worst. Madam, to make plain he is in prison, charged with of murder. nnynge sank back into her blood fled from her cheek hands caught each other in a genu- ne gesture of distress In prison! John Law! me how? Her voice was trembling Connynge, her soul was hot mignht perhaps be Oh heaven! ther slew Mr. Wilson in a duel seeking. 1t happened ves- 1 50 swift I scar can tell you. P a qus which I tad fixed with Mr. Wilson myself. We Bloomsbury Square, my brother great haste. Of a sw er ame enraged He the carriage and met Mr vassed a time or died a was said ild be made. bt bears s 1 be well s owners of its con- aredly. 1 st stracted to take full e girl tore open the ir saw but three words, written iressed to no one and sign ould =ay.” r hee Come to sage. This me’ Th was t spoke rossed black Lor ng remain mistress of h she passed Wil ught tc ment, ar CHAPTER XIV PRISONERS sten when eallers would be John Law and besides the prison * said he poor the gates vy-aired passage, ked room. It was rroundings, that the man graven on her morn at Sad.er r heart coveted him, how him—these things f the world can who own the prime’ heart of been that John Law himself at length e n he stepped forward though with surprise Then, with a sudden hesi- looked sharpiyv at the figure ch he saw awaiting him in the dingy His breath came sharp and ended For a half moment his face brow showed question and yance. Yet rapidly, after his fash- he mastered himself. said he, calmly, to his brother, ndly ask the coachman wait for He stood for a moment gazing after the form of his brother as it disappeared in the outer shadows. For tais half-moment he took swift counsel of himself. It was a face calm and non-committal that he turned toward the girl who sat now in the darkest corner of the room, her head down, her foot beating a signal of perturbation upon the flcor. From the corner of her eve Mary Connynge saw him, a tall and manly man, superbly clad, faultiess in physique and raiment from top to toe. He stood as though ready to step into his carriage for some voyage to rout or ball. Youth, vigor, self- rellance, confidence, this the who! message of the splendid figure. The blood of Mary Connynge, this survival, this half-savage woman, unregulated, unsub- dued, leaped high within her bosom, fled 1o her face, gave color to her cheek and brightness to her eve. Her breath short- ened after feline fashion. Deep was 1- ing unto deep, anclent unto ancient, prim- itive unto primitive. Without the gate of London prison there was one abject prisoner. Within its gates there were two prisoners, and one of them was slave for 1 ““Madam,” said John Law, in deep and vibrant tone, u will pardon me if I say that it gives me surprise to see you he % “Yes; logically. “You bring. perhaps, some message?”’ “I—1 brought a message.” is from the Lady Catharine?” Connynge was silent for a mo- It was necessary that, at least a moment, the poison of some aeons should distil. There was need of sav- agery to say what shé proposed to say. The voice of training, of civilization, of unselfishness, of friendship raised a pro- test. Wait then for a mont Wait until the bitterness of an ambitious and unrounded life could formulate this evil I have come,” said the girl, not impulse. Wait, till Mary Connynge could summon treachery enough to say ker friend. And yet, wait only until the primitive soul of Mary Connynge should become altogether imperative in its de- mands! For after all, was not this friend a woman, and is not the earth builded as it is? And bath not God made male and female its inhabitan and as there is war of male and male, is there not war of female and female, un- til the end of time? I come from the Lady Catharine,” said Mary Connynge, slowly, “but I bring no message from her of the gort which per haps you wished.” It was a desperate, reckless lie, a lie almost certain of de- tection: yet it was the only resource of the moment, and a moment later it was t00 late to recall. One lie must now fol- low another, and all must make a deadly coil “Madam, I am sorry,” eald John Law, quietly, vet his face twitched sharply at the impact of these cutting words. “Did you know of my letter to her?” Am 1 not here? id Mary Connynge. “True, and 1 thank you deeply. But how, why—pray you, understand that I would be set right. 1 would not undergo more than is necessary. Will you not ex- plain? There is little to explain—little, though it may mean muech. It must be private. Your brother—he must rever know. Premise me not to speak to him of this.” “This means much to me, I-doubt not, my dear lady,” said John Law. “l trust ] may keep my counsel in a matter which comes so ciose to me.” Yes, truly,” replied Mary but Connynge, “if you had set your heart upon a kindly fou mean, then, that she—" mise? of Law settled deeper and er fnto the frown which marked him when he was perturbed e bloc tied back, now slowly mounted again into his the res ful, fighting blood of the der. e brows face. now, tell Catharine he cried. “‘And me what answer had the Lady Knollys “She dec answer.” said Mary Connynge. slowly and evenly. ‘‘Declined to come. She said that she was 1l enough pleased to hear of your brawling. Said that she doubted not the law would pun- that the law was ned to his heel, laughed Taw haif his hands and bitterly “Madam,” said he “I had never thought to =ay it to a woman. but in very justice I must vou that I see quite through th shallow falsehood “Sir.” =ald Mary Connvnge, her hands clutching at the arms of her chair, “this is unusual speech to a lady! ‘But your story, madam, is usual Tell me, t w hould 1 be here”’ out the girl. hat is it to me Id I care what the Lady Catb says or does? Wh should T risk own name to come of this errand in the night? Now let me pass, for I shall leave you.” The swift jealous rage of Mary nynge was unpremeditated, yet nothing had better served her real purpose. The stubborn nature of Law was ever ready for a challenge. He caught her arm and placed her not unkindly upon the chair “By heaven, 1 half belleve what vou say is true!” said he, as though to him- seif. ‘Yet together and smote most un- you said the girl, her eyes f I meant that and hence the fir You saw my message? did, since it so fell out “But you did not read the real m, 1 asked no aid for any one for my es 1 but asked her to come. I wished but to see her.’ “And by what right cc that? ‘I asked her as my plied Jc Law Mary Connynge stood an inch taller as ang to her feet in sudden scorn and bitterness, “Your affianced “What! So soon! Oh, rare indeed must be my opinion of this Lady Catharine “It was never my way to waste time on a journey,” John Law, coolly Your wife, your afflanced wife?" “As I said.” es,”” cried Mary Connynge, again, unconsciously anger, falling upon that course which best served her purpose. *“And what manner of affianced wife is it would for- sake her lover at the first breath of trouble? My God! 'tis then, it seems to me, a woman would most swiftly fly to the man she loved!" John Law turned slowly toward her, his eves scanning her closely from top to toe, noting the heaving of her bosom, the sparkling of her gold-colored eye, now darkened and half ready to dissoive in tears. He stood as though he were a judge, welghing the evidence before him, calmly, dispassionately. “Would you do so much as that, Mary Connynge?” asked John Law “1, sir?” she replied. “Then why am T here to-night myself> But. God pity me what have 1 said? There is nothing but misfortune in all my life!” it was one rebellious, unsubdued nature speaking to another, and of the two each as now having its own snharp suffering. The instant of doubt is the time of dan- ger. ' Then comes revulsion, bitterness, despair, folly. John Law trod a step nearer. “By God! madam,” cried he. “I would I might believe you. I would I might believe that you, that any woman, would come to me at such a time! But tell me—and 1 bethink me my message was not addressed, was even unsigned—whom then may I trust? If this woman scorns my call at such a time, tell me, whom shall 1 hold faithful? Who would come to me at any time. in any case, in my trouble? Suppose my message were to you?” Mary Connynge stirred softly under her deep cloak. Her head was lifted slightly, the curve of cheek and chin showing in the light that fell from the little lamp. The masses of her dark hair lay piled about her face, tumbled by the sweeping of her hood. Her eves showed tremu- lously soft and deep now as he looked into them. Her little hands half twitched a trifle from her lap and reached forward and upward. Primitive she might have been, wicked she was, sinfully sweet: and yet she was woman. It was with the voice of tears that she spoke, if one might claim vocalization for her speech. “Have I not come?’ whispered she. “By God! Mary Connynge, yes, you have come!” cried Law. And though there was heartbreak in his volce, it sounded sweet to the ear of her who heard it, and who now reached up her ar about his neck. h, John Law,” said Mary Connynge, “when a woman loves—when a woman loves, she stops at rothing!” ‘twas shing. what you add is true, 80 must be believed. just false,” gaid age. ape In sheer truth, d you expect affianced wife,” re- wife!” eried she bitterly and and in sheer CHAPTER XV. IF THERE WERE NEED. Time wore on in the ancient capital of England. The tramp of troops echoed in the streets and the fleets of Britain made THE SUNDAY ready to carry her sons over seas for wars and for adventures. The intrigues of party against party, of church against church, of Parliament against king; the ioves, the hates, the ambitions. the de- sires of all the city’'s hurrving thousands went on as ever. Who, then, should re- member a single prisoner, waiting within the walls of England’s jail? The hours wore on slowly enough tor that prisoner. He had faced a jury of his peers and was condemned to face the gallows. Meantime he had said farewell to love and hope and faithfulness even as he bade farewell to life. “Since she has for- saken me whom 1 thought faithful.” said he to himself, “why let it end. for life is a mockery T would not live out.” And thenceforth. haggard but laughing. pale but with unbroken courage, he trod on his way through his few remaining days the wonder of those who saw him. As for Mary Connynge. surely she had matters enough which were best kept se- cret in her own soul. While Lady Cath- arine was hoping. and praying, and dreaming and believing, even as the roses left her cheek and the hollows fell be- neath her eves, she saw about her in the daily walks of life Mary Connynge, sleek and rounded as ever. They sat at table together. and nelther did the one make sign to the other of her own anxiety, nor did that other give sign of her own treachery. Mary Connynge, false guest, false friend, false woman, deceived so per- fectly that she left no indication of de- ceit. She herself knew, and blindly sat- isfied herself with the knowledge. that she zlone now came close into the life of Beau” Taw. the convict; ‘Jessamy' Law. the student, the financier, the think- er; John Law_ her lord and master. Here- in she found the ole compensation pos- sible in her savage nature. She had found the master whom she sought! Cynically mirthful or frreverently indif- ferent, yet never did her master’s strength forsake him, never did his heart lose its undauntedness. And when he bade Mary Connynge do this or that she obeved him: when he bade her arise she arose; at his word she came or departed. A dozen nights in the month she was absent from the house of the Knollys. A dozen nights Will Law was cozened into frenzy, alternating between a heaven of delight and a hell of despair nd ignorant of her twofold duplic! A dozen nights John Law knew well enough where Mary Connynge was, though no one else might know. There was feminine triumph now in full in the heart of this Mary Connynge. who had gone white with rage at the sight of a rose offered across her face to another woman. Had she not her master? Was he not hers, all hers, belonging in no wise to any other? For the future, Mary Connynge did not ponder it. An ephemera, once buried generations deep in the mire and slime of lower conditions. and now craving blind- 1v but the sunlight of the day, she would have sought the deadly cares of life even though at that moment it had sealed her doom. Foolish or wise, she was as she was; since, under our frail society, life is as it is Only at night. on those nights when was sleeping on her own couch neath the roof of Catharine Knollys Mary Connynge allow herself to thir Tell, then, ye who may. whether or not she was a mere survival of some forgot- ten day of the forest and the glade, as she lay with her hands clasped in briet moments of emotion. Surely she hoped. as all women hope who love, that this might endure for her forever. Yet the next moment there came the thought that inevitably it all must end, and soon. Then her hand clenched, her eyes grew dry and brilllant. She sald to herself: ““There is no hope. He cannot be saved! For this short period of his life he =hail be mine, all mine! He shall not be set free! He shall not go away, to belong, at any time, in any part, to any other women! Though he die, vet shall he loye me to the end; me, Mary Connynge, and no other woman?”’ Now. under this same roof of Knollys, separated by but a few yards of space, there lay another woman. thinking also of this convict behind the prison bars. But this was a woman of another and a nobler mold. Into the heart of Cath- arine Knollys there came no mere mad selfishness of desire, yearn though she did in every fiber of her being since that first time she felt the mastering Kkiss of love. There was born in her soul emo- tion of a higher sort. The Lady Cath- arine Knollys prayed, and her prayer was not that her lover should die, but that he might live; that he might be free. Nor was this hope left to wither un- nourished in the mind of the high- bred and courageous English girl. Alone, with no confidant to counsel her, with woman friend to aid her, the Lady Catharine Knollys backed her own hopes and wishes with resource and en- ergy. There came a time, perilously late, when a faint rose showed once more in her cheek. long so worn, a faintly brighter light glowed in her deep eye When Sir Arthur Pembroke received a message from the Lady Catharine Knollys advising him that the latter would re- celve him at her home, it was left for the impulses, the hopes. the Imaginings of that modest young nobreman to estab- lish a reason for the message. Puzzling all along his rapid way In answer*to the summons, Sir Arthur found the answer which best suited his hopes in the faint flush, the brightened eve of the young woman who received him. “Lady Catharine,” he began, impetu- ously, “I have come. and let me hope that ‘tis at last to have my arswer. [ have waited—each moment has been a year that I have spent away from you."” ‘Now, that is very pretty sai ‘But I am seri ‘And that is why I do not like you.” ‘But Lady Catharine!" “I should like it better did you but continue as in the past. We have met on the Row, at the routs and drums, in the country; and always I have felt free to ask any favor of Sir Arthur Pembroke. Why shotild it not be always tius?” ou might ask my very life, Catharin “Ah, there it is! When a man offers his life, 'tis time for a woman to ask nothing.” She turned from the open window, her attitude showing an unwonted weakness and dejection. Sir Arthur still stood near by. his own face frowning and uncertain, “Lady Catharine,” he broke out at length, “for years, as you know, I have sought your favor. I have dared think that some time the day would come when —my falth! Lady Catharine, the day has come now when I feel it my right to de- mand the cause of anything which troubles you. And that you are troubled is plain enough. Ever since this man Law—" “There,” cried Lady Catharine, rais. ing her hand. “I beg you to say no more."" “But T will say more! There must be a reason for this.” The face of the young woman flushed in spite of herseif. as Pembroke strode clos- er and gazed at her with sterness. “Lady Catharine,” said he, slowly, “I1 am a friend of your family. Perhaps now 1 may be of aid to you. Prove me, and at the Jast, ask who was indeed your friend.” Lady CALL. we of the * seid Lady Cath- but the fate “We have had misfortur family of the Knoliys,” arine. ““This is, perhaps, of the house of Knollys. It is my fate.” “Your fate!" sald Sir Arthur, slowly. ‘“Nour fate! Lady Catharine, I thank you. Tt is at least as weil to know the trath.” “Pick out the troth, then, Sir Arthur, as you like it. T am noton the witness stand before you, and you are not my judge. There has been forsworn tesii- mony enough aiready in this town. Were it not for that Mr. Law would at this moment be as free as you or I.” Sir Arthur struck his hands together in despair and, turning away, strode down the room. *‘Oh, 1 se= it all well enough,” cried he. ‘“You are mad as any who have hitherto had dealings with this madman from the north.” The girl rose to her full stood before him. ‘It may he that am mad.” said she. “It may be the old Knollys madness. If so, why should T struggle against it? 1t may be that T am mad. But I venture to say to you that Mr. Law is not born to die in Newgate Yards. My life! sir, if I love him, who should say me nay? Now, say to yourself and to your friends —to all London, if you like, sincs you have touched me to this point—that Catherine Knollys is a friend to Mr. Law, and believes in him, and declares that he shall ba freed from his prison, and that within short space! Say that, Sir Arthur; tell them that! And if they ar- gue somewhat from it, let them reason it as best they ma The voung man stood, his lips together, his head still turned away. girl continued with growing energy. “I have sent for you to tell you that Mr. Law's life has a value in my eyes. And now, I say to you, Sir Arthur, that you must aid me in his escape.” A beautiful picture she made, tearful, pleading, a lock of her soft red-brown hair falling unnoticed acvcss her tear-wet cheek. It had been ill indeed, to make refusal of any sort to a woman so gloriously feminine, so nuble, now so he- seeching. “Lady Catharine,” =aid the young man, turning toward her, *“this illness, this anxfety—" “No, I know perfectly well whereof I speak Listen, and T'll tell you some- what of new Montague, chancel- lor of the exchequer, iz my warrant for what 1 to you when I tell you that Mr. Law is to be free. Montague himself had said to me, in this very room, that Mr. Law was like to be half the §al- vation of England in these uncertain times. I could tell you more, but may not. Only look you, Sir Arthur, John Law does not rest in Newgate more than one week from this time!” Sir Arthur took snuff, length regaining that which he had sought. “’'Tis very excellent,” he s=aid. “For myself, two centuries have been spent in my family to teach me to love like a gen- tleman and to deserve you like a man. What does this young man need? A few days of bluster, of assertion! A few weeks of gaming and of roystering, of self-asserted claims! Gad! Lady Catha- rine, this is passing bitter! And now you ask me to heip him.” “I wish you to heip him,” sald Lady Catharine, slowly, “only in that I ask you to help me “And it I did?” And if you did, you should dweil In a part of my heart forever! Let it be as you like. Ther cried the young man, flushing suddenly and hotly as he strode toward her, “do with me as you like! Let me be fool unspeakable!” ““And do you promise?’ said Lady Cath- arine, rising and advancing toward him. Her face was sad and appealing. Her eyes swam in tears, her lips were trem- bling. Sir Arthur held out his hand. The lady Catharine extended both her own, and he bent and kissed them, tears springing in his eves. For a time the room was sil % Then the girl turned, her own lashes wet. She stepped at length to a cabinet and took from an inner drawer a paper. “Sir Arthur, look at this,” she said. He took it from her and scrutinized it carefully. “Why, this seems to be a street bill, a placard for posting upon the walls,” said he. “Read it.” “Yes, well—so, so. ‘Five hundred pounds reward for information regarding the es- caped felon, Captain John Law, convicted of murder and under sentence of death of the King's bench. The same Law escaped from Newgate prison on the night of — hum—well—well—'may be known by his description: Is tall, of dark complexion, spare of build, raw-boned, face hath deep pockmarks; e, dark: hair dark -and scanty. Speaketh broad and loud.' How —how, why my dear Lady Catharine, this is the last proof that thou'rt stark, star- ing mad! This no more tallies with the true John TLaw than it dces with my hunting horse! “‘And but few would know him by this description?” “None, absolutely none.” None could tell "twas he, even did they meet him full face to face—no one would know it Mr. Law?" “Why, assuredly not. as it could be.” Then it is well.” said Lady Catherine “Well? Very badly done, T should say “Oh, my poor Sir Arthur, ‘where are your wits? “Twas very well because 'tis very ill. this same description.” “‘Ah, ha!" said he, a sudden light dawn- fng upon him. “Then you mean to tell me that this description was misconceived deliberately?" “What would you think “Did vou do this work yourself?” “Guess for yourself. Montague, as you know, was once of a pretty imagination ere he took to finance. If he and the poet Prior could write such conceits as they have created, could not perhaps Montague —or Prior—or some one else—have con- cefved this description of Mr. Law?” The voung man threw himself into a seat, his head between his hands. *'Tis like a play,” said he. ‘““And surely the play of fortune ever runs well enough for Mr. Law.” “‘8ir Arthur.” sald Lady Catharine, ris- ing uneasily and standing before him, “I must confess to you that T bear a cer- tain active part in private plans looking to the escave of Mr. Law. I have come to you for aid. Sir Arthur, I pray God that we may be successful. The young man also roge and began to pace the floor. “Even did Law escape,” he began, ‘it I\vo:ld meah only his flight from Eng- and. rue.” said the TLady Catharine: “that is all planned. The ship even now awaits him in the Pool. He is to take ship at once upon leaving prison, and he salls at once frony England. He goes to France.” “But, my dear Lady Catharine, this means that he must part from you “'Of course, it means our parting.’ “‘Oh, but you said—but I thought—"" “But I said—but you thought—Sir Ar- thur, do not stand there prating like a little boy."”" “You do not, then, keep your prisoner height and clese The his voice at composure for 'Tis as unlike him bound by othe from Newgate “I do nothing unwomanly, and I do nothing, I trust, ignoble. I go to meet the Knollys fate, whatever it may be.” “Lady Catharine,” cried Pembroke pas- sionately, “I have said I loved you. Never in my life did I love you as I do now!" I like to hear your words,” said the girl frankly. “There shall always be your corner in my heart—"' “Yet you will do this thing “I will do this thing. T shall not whim- per nor repine. 1 am sending him away, forever, but 'tis needful for his sake. I shall be ready for whatever fate hath for me."” “Tell me. then,™ face haggard and unhapp: serve you In this matter.” *“In this way: To-morrow night eall here with your coach. My household, if they note it, may take your eoach for my own, and may perhaps understand that I go to the rout of my Lady Swearingsham. We shall go. instead, to Newgate. For the night, Sir Arthur Pembroke shall serve as coachman. You must drive the car- riage to Newgate Jail.”" “And 'tis there,” sald Pembroke slow ly, “that the Lady Catharine Knollys. the dearest woman of all England, would take the man who honorably loves her— to Newgate, to feloniously set free a felon? It is there. then, Lady Catharine, you would go to meet your lover?" The tall figure of the girl straightened up to its full height. A shade of coiof came to her cheeks, but her voice was firm, though tears came to her eyes as she answered: “Aye, sir, T would go to there were need fetters after he escap said Pembroke. his “how am I to Newgate if CHAPTER XVI. THE ESCAPE. On a certain morning a messenger rode in hot haste up to the prison gate. He bore the livery of Montague. Turnkey after turnkey admitted him, until finally he stood before the cell of John Law and delivered into his hand, as he had been commanded, the message that he bore. That afternoon this same messenger paused at the gate of the house of Knol- vs. Here, too, he was admitted prompt- He delivered into the hands of the Catharine Knollys a certain mes- sage. This was of a Wednesday. On the following Friday it was decreed that the gallows should do its work. Two more and there would be an end of That Wednesday night a covered car- riage came to the door of the house of Knollys. Tts driver was muffled in such fashion that he could hardly have been known. There stepped from the house the cloaked figure of a woman, who entered the carriage and herself pulled shut the door. The vehicle was soon lost among the darkling streets. Catharine Knollys had heard the sum- mons of her fate. She now sat trembling in the carriage When finally the vehicle stopped at the curb of the walk which led to the prison gate a second carriage, as mysterious as the first, came down the street and stop- ped at a little distance, but close to the curb on the side nearest to the gate. The driver of the first carriage, evidently not liking the close neighborhood at the time. edged a trifle farther down the way. The second carriage thereupon drew up into the spot just vacated, and the two, not easily distinguishable at the hour and in the dark and unlighted street. stood <o each apparently watchful of the other each seemingly without an occupant Lady Catharine had left her carriage be- fore this interchange and had passed the prison gate alone. Her steps faltered. It was hardly consciously that she finally found her way into the court through the gate, down the evil smelling corridors, past the sodden and leering constables up to the last gate which separated her from him whom she had come to see. She had been admitted without demur as far as this point, and even now her coming seemed not altogether a mat- of surprise. fhe burly turnkey at the last door stood ready to meet her. With loud comnrands, he drove out of the corridor the crowd of prison attendants. He approached Lady Calharine, hat in hand and bowing deeply. “I presume you are the man whom I would see,” said she faintly, almest un- equal to the task imposed upon her. Ave, madam, I doubt not, with my worship for you.” “I was to come’—said Lady Catharine. “I was to speak to you—" ““Aye,” replied the turnkey. *You to come, and you were to speak. now, what were you to say to me? there no given word?” There was such a word,” she ou will understand. It is in the ter of Mr. Law. “True,” said the turnkey. “But I must have the countersign. There are heads to lose in this, yours and mine, it thers be mistake.” Lady Catharine raised h lIy. “It was for faith,” love. and for hope! words.” aying which, as though she had called to her ald the last atom of her strength, she staggered back and half fell against the wall near the inner gate. The rude jailer sprang forward to steady her. “Yes, ves” he whispered eagerly. “'Tis all proper. Those be the words. v you, have courage, lady.” There came into the corridor a mur. mur of voices, and there was audi the sound of a man's footfalls approa ing along the flags. Catharine Knollys looked through the bars of the gate which the turnkey was already beginning to throw open for her. She looked, and there appeared upon her vision a sight which caused her heart to stop, which confounded all her reason. From a side door there advanced John Law. magni- ficently clad. walking now as though he trod the floor of some great hall or ban- quet-room. The woman waiting without the gate reached out her arms. She would have cried aloud. Then she fell back against the wall, whereat had she not grasped she must have sunk down to the floor. Upon the arm of John Law, and look- ing up to him as she walked, there hung the clinging figure of a woman, half hid- den by the flickering shadows of the torches. -A deep cloak fell back from her ghould It might have been the light fabric of the aborigine. Upon the foot of Mary Connynge, twinkling in and out as she walked, showed the crudely garnished little shoe of the Indian Princess over seas, dainty, bizarre, singular, covering the smaillest foot in all London town. “By zll the saints!” Law. was saying, “you might be the very maker of this little slipper yourself. I have won the forty crowns, I swear. force, I'll leave them to you in my will. The shock of the light speech made even Mary Connynge wince. For the moment she averted her eyes from the handsoms face above her. She looked. and saw what gave her greater shock. Law, too, stared, as her own startled gaze grew fixed. He advanced close to the gate only to start back in a horror of surprise which racked even his steeled composure. fadam!” he cried; and arine! Catharine Knollys made no answer to him. though she looked straight and calm- Iy into his face, seeming not in the least to see the woman near him. Her eyes were wide and shining. “Sir,”" sald she, “keep fast to hope. This was for faith, and for love!" The jailer with one quick gesture swung e the gate. ‘Haste, haste!" he cried. “Quick and begone! This night may mean my ruin. Get ye gone. all of ye, and give me time to think. Out with ye all; for 1 must lock the gate!” Jehn Law paseed as one stupefled, the slender form of Mary Connynge still upon his arm. Hands of men hurried quick. “Quick! Into the carriage!” one cried. were And Was said. mat- head proud- sald she, “for These were the then, “Cath- (Continued Next Sunday.) 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You never would expect to get a corset like this for so little TMOMEY . .ovvnrnnneeeassssssesteiieiiiiuinoseocnseotessssin 31_50 JOE ROSENRE Running through to 11 O'Farrell Street. 816 MARKET STREET The Price Culler SAN FRANCISCO -~ Mail Orders Solicited. S %